And then I burst forth from the darkness, the cold steel in my hand glinting in the pale moonlight. A spark of red peeks at you from the end of my knife, and then nothing, as I bury it where no one can see.
I'm have a rough week. It just seems like a thousand little things are going wrong, and it feels like God is trying to tell me something. I'm praying and I'm praying, but maybe I can't stop worrying or crying long enough to hear that soft still voice. Maybe not. Maybe I'm just whining, who knows? If you know, please write it on a post it and put it in a tiny envelope. Then write my address down, and proceed to tear it up, then burn it. As the ashes float towards the sky, whisper my name. Act like you remember me for me, like you knew me for more than an instant, and let your heart explode.
That is the best way to communicate with me.
I guess I missed the memo that poems can't rhyme, and have to mention food.
Sorry guys, i let you down. That "i" was intentionally left in the lower case.
Dan Out
1 comment:
If you desire Pad Thai, then I shall make it for you if it cheers you up any. Sorry you're having a rough week, some weeks are like that unfortunately. I'm still waiting to see if I will be at work next week or out walking the picket lines. Take a deep breath, get in your car and come on over, bring Malish too. Lots of hugs comin' at ya.
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